


In Which John Adams Gets Stuck at the Airport

by oh_mr_adams



Category: 1776 (1972), 1776 - Edwards/Stone
Genre: Jedams, M/M, Modern AU
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-06-26
Updated: 2019-06-26
Packaged: 2020-05-20 11:04:28
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,358
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19375432
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/oh_mr_adams/pseuds/oh_mr_adams
Summary: A year-or-so-old fic I found in my google drive. The title says it all.





	In Which John Adams Gets Stuck at the Airport

_“Flight 176 to Philadelphia has been delayed. Status updates will follow regularly. We apologize for any inconvenience.”_ __  
__  
The raspy, mechanical voice rang out over the loudspeaker, causing a chorus of agonized groans across the airport. One man in particular shot up from his seat, flinging his arms into the air emphatically, dark eyebrows furrowed over sharp eyes in utter outrage at the circumstances.  
  
“Good _God!_ ” John snapped, much to the chagrin of his fellow patrons. He stood frozen for a moment, arms still raised in the air for emphasis, before he fell back into his seat ungracefully, glancing at his watch. He glared at the silver timepiece on his wrist when it told him that there was no possible way he’d be able to reach his destination in time. Folding his arms over his chest with a hiss, his foot tapped against the floor rhythmically until he earned himself a glare from the elderly woman across from him, who’d slapped her newspaper down into her lap emphatically. He glared back, and she returned to her paper with a huff. John shifted uncomfortably in his seat, resting his leg on the opposite knee and tapping his fingers on his armrest.   
  
“Incredible,” he muttered, his legs moving restlessly. “The one flight to be delayed this evening and it has to be-” He stopped suddenly as he felt strong fingers tapping him on the shoulder. He turned around slowly, his face expressing confusion, as he met another pair of tired blue eyes. The man in the seat behind him looked at him with disdain, brown, curly bangs across his forehead and a tailored, green suit, which now looked dusty and rumpled from a day of travel.  
  
“We all have somewhere to be,” he hissed, “so shut up.”   
  
John gaped, slowly turning back around as the people around him muffled laughter into their hands. Folding his arms over his chest, John glared at each person in turn, and in turn, each dismissed him and returned to their reading material. Eventually realizing that stewing in his own restlessness and frustration would accomplish nothing, John shot up from his seat once more, hefting his carry-on up over his shoulder, and muttered a quiet “ _Good God”_ before marching away from the seating area pointedly. He heard a chorus of relieved sighs in his wake, and the man from before said something John couldn’t quite make out, which received cacophonous laughter from the tired collective. John waved them off dismissively before marching off down the hall.    
  
His walk-out would have been more poignant if he hadn’t tripped over a sleeping body in the hall, leaning against the wall with legs stretched out over the floor. John blinked, laying on his stomach, before pushing himself up to a standing position, his hands balled into fists. He stood over the offending man and coughed pointedly into his hand. Dark grey hair loosely tied up and thick-rimmed glasses slipping from his nose, he looked nearly as bad as John felt. The man didn’t seem to stir, and John aimed a forceful kick to his leg.   
  
The man didn’t look up, or even open his eyes, but his body shuddered and his glasses fell into his lap.  
  
“Can’t talk…” he mumbled, “Medical conference…” and his head dropped forward into his chest. He continued to mumble incoherently for a few seconds as John stared down at him in disgust. He gave an exasperated sigh and turned around to pick up his bag, continuing his walk down the hall.   
  
John grimaced at the hunger pangs in his stomach, and momentarily pondered over whether the airport food was worth it. Eyes trailing over the various concessions, each one making him feel slightly more nauseous, he huffed, shoving his hands into the pockets of his cardigan, deciding the food to be not entirely worth it. He silently lamented over his hatred for travel for the seventh time that day as he stalked up and down the halls of the airport for what felt like hours. Stopping in his tracks, he looked down at his watch. Realizing it had, in fact, been ten minutes, he gave an agonized groan, attracting the momentary attention of his fellow patrons.   
  
He thought he’d come full circle when he stood in front of a familiar airport seating area, but blinking his eyes tiredly he realized that this one was much emptier, only a few people scattered around the various seats, most of them asleep. Gazing across the pitiful assortment of people, he noticed a tall redhead in a far corner, his nose buried in a thick book, and John strode stiffly over to him. Most people, John realized, would rather be left alone in such a time as a delayed flight, but some, he conceded, would rather talk to someone. And John Adams loved to talk. He stood next to the tall man, who made no visible notice to his presence. John coughed, and still, the man didn’t look up. John scowled.  
  
“May I sit here?” He enunciated. The redhead slowly looked up from his book, young, brown eyes meeting John’s tired blue ones for a mere moment before he looked back at the text. He gave a lazy shrug.  
  
“Go ahead.”  
  
John nodded, sitting down next to the other man and resting his foot on his opposite knee. After a few moments, his fingers started tapping against the armrest, a telltale sign of his debilitating restlessness. He turned to the man next to him, who paid no attention.  
  
“I’m John. John Adams,” He said pointedly. The other man merely nodded, not looking up from his book. John grimaced. “And may I ask your name?” He asked, his voice growing more impatient. The other man blinked heavily into his book.  
  
“Thomas.”   
  
John nodded, shifting slightly in his seat, satisfied with the answer. After a few more moments though, he spoke up again.  
  
“And where are you headed, Thomas?” He asked, not entirely caring about the answer, just trying to relieve his insatiable urge to talk.   
  
“Virginia,” Thomas replied into his book.  
  
“On business?”  
  
Thomas froze for a moment, before angling his book down slightly towards his lap, and turning his head just barely in John’s direction so that their eyes met. John swallowed, suddenly feeling incredibly self-conscious.  
  
“Family business.”   
  
__“Ah,” John nodded and looked away, facing the far wall in an attempt to zone out for the hours until his plane arrived. He almost had, his brain flooded with repetitive thoughts about work and such other things, that he went sort of numb on the outside, lost entirely into his own world. That was, until, he was startled out of his comatose state from the sudden slap of Thomas’s book against the floor. John let out a small yelp, exhausted adrenaline shooting through his body before he realized he was not in any danger and numbly bent over to retrieve the fallen book. As he sat up to hand it back to its owner, he realized the reason it had fallen in the first place.  
  


Thomas had fallen asleep, his chin dropped into his chest and his hands rested loosely in his lap. His chest rose and fell rhythmically with his breathing, his ginger hair spilling across his shoulders loosely. John’s mouth fell open in stunned nervousness, and he clutched the lost book to his chest. After a moment he closed his mouth and forced a cough.  
  
__“Excuse me?” He asked quietly, “Thomas?” Thomas didn’t move, his breath causing his bangs to flutter slightly over his nose. John coughed again, an uncomfortable grimace distorting his face. “Hello?” When he still didn’t get a response, John sighed and sat back in his chair, placing the book in his lap. “I suppose I’ll just... hold on to this, then.” He gently thumbed the frayed leather binding. The title had long since worn off the cover, and the book gave off a faint scent of must, like that of the attic of a large house, stacked high with boxes of old papers and dusty, forgotten items. Multiple yellowing pages had been dog-eared and John gave a wistful smirk, not entirely sure why.

  
  
  
  


**Author's Note:**

> I don't even know if i finished this  
> When i first found it i didnt even remember writing it


End file.
